


Summerday

by Aziethe



Series: Love in the Age of Dragons [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Drama, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-19
Updated: 2010-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 02:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aziethe/pseuds/Aziethe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their liaison was not only impractical, it was foolish. And Morrigan was a fool for allowing it to continue. Written for the Seven Deadly Sins of Morrigan challenge on livejournal, prompt 'sloth'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summerday

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: With many thanks to mutive and juri for the beta! :)
> 
> You can read the other Morrigan fics from this challenge round on the [livejournal community.](http://www.livejournal.com/community/tis_only_i)

**9:31 Dragon  
**

Early summer in Ferelden was surprisingly bearable. Pleasant, even.

Morrigan wriggled her toes, her feet pressing down into a worn blanket spread over clean grass. The sun was deliciously warm against her bare skin, and she surrendered to the urge to stretch her naked limbs like an indolent cat. A sense of lingering satiation clouded her mind in an agreeable haze, silencing her inner protests at the lateness of the hour.

She felt a cool hand slide over her belly, followed by a soft pair of lips pressing into the back of her neck. She sighed, feigning indifference. Her silence was taken as invitation, and she tensed, feeling the hand drifting lower.

"'Tis almost noon," Morrigan protested, not deigning to open her eyes. She heard a quiet chuckle, the fingers trailing across her skin now leaving tiny trickles of electricity in their wake. She squirmed, but not too much, the same lethargy that paralysed her mind extending to her muscles.

"It's Summerday, Morrigan," the warden protested, shifting her weight. "We all deserve a little holiday."

Morrigan cracked her eyes open, half-lidding them against the bright sunlight. She glared balefully at the top of the warden's head, as the elf began planting kisses across her collarbone and against the swell of her breasts. It was difficult to maintain her ire for terribly long, particularly when Sylvanna turned her kisses in a different direction.

"I have potions and poultices to brew, if you'll recall," she tried again, her breath catching as the elf's tongue circled her navel. "They will hardly concoct themselves."

"Wynne can do it."

"Wynne took the others to purchase a new set of armour for the dwarf." Was the warden still suffering a concussion from their last encounter, or had the elf always been this scatter-brained? Such idle thoughts turned briefly into white noise, as Sylvanna trailed her mouth downwards, experimentally flicking her tongue against the evidence of Morrigan's desire.

"Sylvanna, be reasonable," she snapped, entangling a hand into the warden's hair and pulling sharply enough to send a completely unambiguous message. The elf shook her head, dislodging Morrigan's grip as the hand pressed against her hips slid down between her thighs, insistently finding its way past her defences. Morrigan bit off a protest, her knees inching slightly more open to allow the elf easier passage.

"I am being reasonable," the warden argued, her voice sounding muffled as she paused for a moment. "We have all afternoon and all evening to make potions. I can help!" she added brightly, with an unnatural degree of enthusiasm.

Morrigan suppressed a groan. If past experience was to be any indication, such 'help' would consist of a running prattle on which length of elfroot most resembled an obscene appendage, and the warden's continual attempts to steal drops of lyrium for her own personal consumption. Morrigan's vague sense of unease grew sharper, as Sylvanna bent her head down again, the warden's hair tickling the inside of her thighs. She felt a pressure at the back of her skull, like the onset of a headache; with some effort, she willed the sensation to go away.

"The distillation process alone will take several hours. Are you forgetting that our stores have been completely depleted?"

Sylvanna finally stopped what she was doing and looked up, her forehead creased into a frown. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded.

Morrigan bristled at the accusation, and took the opportunity to withdraw. She dug her elbows into the blanket as she sat up, pressing her knees together.

Sylvanna sighed, extending a hand. "Don't," the elf said, all pleading eyes and yielding weakness. Her fingers closed upon Morrigan's wrist, and the witch fought the urge to pull away. "Don't. I'm sorry, all right?"

Morrigan breathed out. The dread that had been festering in her mind took shape, even as she allowed the warden to draw her down. "We have work to do," she hissed, but she had already made her forfeit. "Sylvanna-"

"Don't force me to gag you," the elf warned, with a lopsided smile. Morrigan did groan this time, but her complaints stuttered into silence as Sylvanna finally quietened, the elf committing her lips and tongue to other purposes.

Morrigan lay her head back, breathing in the scent of sun and new grass, and closed her eyes.

.

.

.

_She was so cold_.

_Her fingers trembled as she tilted the vial until it was almost vertical, pouring its precious contents into the small cauldron. The fumes from the resulting mixture made her cough, and she turned aside, her eyes watering. Black specks clouded her vision for a moment, and she blinked rapidly, waiting for her sight to clear._

_She felt her presence even before she heard the creak of the door._

_"'Tis done, Mother," she announced, without turning. To her chagrin, her voice betrayed her with the smallest waver, and she cursed her weakness._

_"Let me see it." Her mother strode past her, worn skirts swishing, and took the offering from Morrigan's hands. She barely glanced at the cauldron's contents before dashing it onto the ground._

_Dark red liquid seeped into the rushes spread across the floor, and every bone in Morrigan's body ached in protest with mind-numbing weariness._

_"Again," Flemeth demanded._

_The young witch flinched, drawing her shoulders in closer. "Mother, surely this can wait until the morrow-"_

_There were few sounds she hated more than the hideous rattle of Flemeth's laughter. A bony finger found her chin, raising her eyes to her mother's face._

_"Dear child," Flemeth whispered. "How you try to vex me so."_

_Morrigan shivered. The hand under her chin moved to touch her hair, a gentle caress all the more unsettling for its restraint._

_"If you do not wish to be here until dawn, then I suggest that you increase your proportions of deathroot and mind the strength of your fire."_

_Morrigan lowered her eyes. "Yes, Mother," she heard herself saying. She bent to retrieve the cauldron from the floor, her hands mechanically closing over its iron handles. She was pleased to see that they did not shake when they lowered the cauldron to the bench top. As she straightened, dusting her palms on her skirt, she felt her mother's gaze like a pair of needles at the back of her skull._

_"That's my girl."_

.

.

.

"Something's bothering you," Sylvanna announced. The elf's fingers kneaded the muscles along Morrigan's back and neck, her touch light enough to avoid causing pain.

"Perhaps 'tis the constant threat of being murdered in our sleep by darkspawn or one of your own companions. Or could it be the unfortunate truth that we are hardly closer to ending the Blight?"

"No. That's not it." Morrigan felt, rather than saw, Sylvanna's frown. "I'm not stupid, you know," the elf added peevishly.

"You have a peculiar way of showing it, at times."

"Why is it so hard for you to talk to me?" the warden whined, her voice dragging like fingernails across Morrigan's raw nerves.

"If it is talking you so long for, 'twould be far better if you spoke to the bard," Morrigan snapped. "By all means, go. Make merry! Comb each other's hair! Take the girl to your bed, if that is what you desire: I care not."

The warm hands on Morrigan's back paused, but only for a moment. "I don't want her," the warden said, a touch sulkily. "I want you."

Morrigan exhaled. Sylvanna's fingertips traced swirls over her skin, spreading warmth and then soothing cold as the elf's hands radiated magic. Morrigan felt her eyes closing again, and she forced them to snap open.

"'Tis your over-reliance on lyrium that sharpens your affection," she drawled, shivering as mana arced over her back. "If that girl could brew your potions..."

The elf paused again, and Morrigan felt a surge of regret. Her skin tingled in an unsatisfactory manner; she tried to ignore the sensation as Sylvanna withdrew her hands.

"Surely you don't think so little of me," the elf reasoned. "Morrigan, if I only wanted a herbalist, there's always Wynne."

Morrigan pressed the heels of her palms into the ground and sat up. The tips of the warden's hair brushed her shoulder, unusually clean and smelling of soap and a faint hint of lavender.

"We disagree on everything," Morrigan declared, as Sylvanna leant in to press a kiss against her throat.

"Mm," the warden said.

"You are a Circle mage and a Grey Warden, and I am an apostate, a maleficar, an abomination to be hunted down and slain without mercy."

"Mm hmm."

"We do not even share the same race!"

"You're not human either, according to Alistair," Sylvanna laughed. The sound should have been irritating beyond measure, but Morrigan found that it was not entirely unwelcome.

"Sylvanna, are you even listening to me?"

The Warden's lips found the lobe of one of Morrigan's ears, and she sucked on it, her tongue flicking in distracting circles. "Of course," she breathed. "I always listen to you, Morrigan."

"Just before you decide to do exactly the opposite to what I advise."

"Mostly," Sylvanna conceded, completely unrepentant.

"You are an insufferable fool," Morrigan declared, "and I am-"

"Yes?" Sylvanna's hand caressed Morrigan's breasts, and her thumb flicked over a nipple, that expression of feigned innocence never once dropping from the elf's face.

"I am... pleased to call you a... friend," Morrigan said, wondering how soon she would have cause to regret those words.

Sylvanna smiled, not in triumph, but with earnest joy. Morrigan grabbed her wrists, pushing the smaller woman into the blanket. Sylvanna made a grateful, surprised little noise at the back of her throat, and Morrigan felt a flicker of satisfaction warming her veins. The elf's body embraced Morrigan willingly, too-soft and too-eager and too - too much.

The warden possessed every quality that Flemeth had despised in a daughter. Tender-hearted, impetuous, emotional, weak... Was that why Morrigan found herself drawn to her?

"What are you thinking?"

"Be quiet, Sylvanna," Morrigan said. "Be still."

Sylvanna sighed, but obeyed, her arms enfolding Morrigan into a warm embrace. She breathed in the elf's scent, pressing her lips along the curve of her breast as Sylvanna shifted and made appreciative noises, her hands fluttering against Morrigan's shoulders. A breeze wafted over the two of them, bringing with it the promise of rain, but distant yet; not here, not now.

For a moment, Morrigan let herself pretend that this could last.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The various angsty adventures of Morrigan and Sylvanna are continued in my other fics: [A Curious Thing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/83725) (in game) and [Beauty Ascending](http://archiveofourown.org/works/88134) (ten years after the Blight). Feedback and concrit are highly appreciated. Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
